


Saving You, Saving Me

by Leela



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Erica Reyes, Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, Meet-Cute, Model Stiles, Neckz 'n' Throats, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions, Writer Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Damn,” the guy says, clinging to Derek in something that almost feels like a hug, “saved by my very own superwolf.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving You, Saving Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittylovessterek (kitty_fic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_fic/gifts).



> Written for kittylovessterek in the Teen Wolf Glompfest. I had a lot of fun figuring out a different angle on werewolf conferences. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Many thanks to Eeyore9990 for her encouragement and beta reading, and to batdina for always being there when I write. 
> 
> And...wheeeee... I wrote another thing!!!

“I thought you said we’d gotten a good location.” Derek drops the pile of boxes he’s carrying with a thud and turns to glare at his sister, Laura. 

“We did.” Laura angles her cart for easy access between it and the tables assigned to them. “The Neckz ‘N Throatz booth will bring more milkshake to this corner of the room than they can handle. There’ll be line-ups of people who’ll want something to do while they’re waiting to buy something from their favorite model.”

“Blocking our booth. Making it impossible for anyone who might actually be interested in our books to even see us.” Derek very carefully doesn’t glance next door at the far larger than life size pictures of several of the Neckz ‘N Throatz cover models, especially the one of _that guy_ with his head tilted back and his long-fingered hand splayed over his throat.

“Oh please. They’ll take one look at our—” she raises an eyebrow at Derek “—stock and come over to check it out.” 

Derek scowls at her as he starts connecting the pieces of the frame that will form the backdrop for their booth. “Our _stock_ is nothing like the near _porn_ that they sell.” 

“You say that like you have something against porn.” Laura pulls the batik cloth out of a box and flicks it over one of the tables. “Which anyone who’s seen your browser history knows isn’t true.”

Heat flushes Derek’s cheeks and ears. “I don’t…”

“Oh, baby brother, you most definitely do.” Laura tosses a poster tube at him. “Just because you subscribe online instead of getting it delivered in the mail, doesn’t mean that some of us don’t notice that a certain webpage is always open in one of your browser tabs.” 

Derek can feel the red deepen, because _that_ was so not supposed to happen. “Creepers,” he mutters, silently vowing to be more careful about leaving his laptop unattended and unlocked in future.

“Yup, that’s us,” Laura agrees cheerfully. She lobs another couple of poster tubes at him. “Now get to work, or we won’t be set up before they shut this place down for the night. And I’m not getting up at ass o’clock tomorrow to finish before opening, so don’t even think about suggesting it.” 

In reply, Derek tucks the empty tubes under the nearest table. Then he walks around to the front to check out his handiwork. The three posters are hanging exactly right. The left poster features Caelan, the hero from Derek’s latest novel, with a wolf draped over his shoulders. The right one shows Simone, the heroine of Erica’s most recent book, in full hunting garb, with her mate, Carlotta, wolfed out at her shoulder. The middle one, though, is Derek’s favorite. It’s a scene from his children’s illustrated story, with two human kids crouching in the center of a pack of wolves. The wolf behind them is in full protective mode, red eyes blazing, fangs exposed in a snarl. 

He’s far more proud of that image, of that book, than he is of the ones that made him a household name. His mom hadn’t been sure at first, but even she agreed that it was a good thing to, essentially, publish the Hale pack origin story, even if very few people know that’s what he wrote and drew. 

Setup takes a couple of hours. He spreads a sampling of books from their various authors out on the tables, probably spending more time than necessary making sure they’re properly organized to match the posters and the Lykos Press banner hanging down in front of their tables. Laura tapes their schedule down on the smaller table in the back. Even though he’s got it saved to his phone calendar, Derek verifies one last time that Laura’s got him down for the opening shift. 

Then, when they’re finally done, Derek follows Laura out of the room. As he closes the door behind him, his gaze catches on the Neckz ‘N Throatz backdrop that rises almost to the ceiling. Even dark and empty, that booth is the focus of the entire room. 

He doesn’t — he really, really doesn’t — have that one image of that one guy stuck in his mind all the way up to his room.

*

The crowds are out in full force the next morning. It takes almost twenty minutes for Derek to make it to the front of the line at the Peets that’s next to the hotel restaurant, and another ten for his order of coffee and breakfast sandwiches to be ready. The entire time he’s forced to listen to the same man berate the same cashier, and then the manager, about how his order was messed up and detail the exact number of teaspoons of non-fat milk and flavoring that should have been added. If it had been up to Derek, he would have given the guy a life lesson on how to use coffee as an enema.

After he’s survived that, he has to weave his way between the long lines of humans and werewolves waiting to register that wind around the hotel lobby. He almost loses his carefully balanced cardboard tray of drinks once, but just manages not to spill them all over the woman whose kid nearly tripped him. 

Derek doesn’t slow down again until he gets to the less organized bunch huddled between the wall and a barrier made from gold poles joined by thick red velvet ropes. They’re clearly waiting to get into the marketplace, which is… weird. Lykos Press has only been doing conventions for a couple of years, but he’s never seen anything like this. Usually the first hour or so of opening day is quiet, giving them time to finish setup as a few people wander around, checking things out. 

A few people mutter complaints as he walks to the door, but they subside as he shows his badge to the alpha and is let in. 

The room is busier now. Every booth he passes is occupied by at least one person, and most of them are ready for opening. The hum of conversation and the sounds of boxes and bins being opened are muted by the hiss of white noise from a battery of air filters. Derek noticed them in the lobby and the hallways, but they’re louder in this enclosed space. 

He shakes his head, hoping that the filters work as advertised by the con comm and keep the scents and sounds down to a bearable level for the werewolves. Otherwise…

His thoughts are interrupted by a low, “Fuck,” and the sound of something tearing, but the filters make it difficult to figure out where the sound came from. Shrugging it off, Derek heads for the far corner where their booth is located. 

“My savior.” Erica snatches her chocolate and caramel concoction from the cardboard tray before Derek can put it down. Her cup catches a little before coming free from the cardboard, and he almost drops the bag of sandwiches, trying not to let the drinks drop, before Laura reaches around to take the tray from him. 

“Thanks,” Laura says, placing his [iced black tie](http://www.peets.com/stores/menus/coffee-espresso-beverages/black-tie.html) in an empty space on the table.

Derek nods, making sure to take out his bacon, egg, and cheddar sandwich before handing the bag over to Erica. He doesn’t want to end up with Laura’s kale and egg whites whatever again because she “accidentally” took the wrong sandwich. She can order all the healthy food she wants, as far as he’s concerned, but he has no intention of getting stuck with it ever again. 

“Still crazy out there?” Erica licks her lips clean of whipped cream. 

“I can’t believe they’re lining up outside.” Wrinkling her nose at her sandwich, Laura takes a bite. “I don’t think we got that many people combined in the first hour last year,” she mumbles through her mouthful. 

“As long as they’re buying from us,” Derek says. 

A muffled bang comes from somewhere close by, distracting Derek enough that he misses Laura’s reply. He’s about to ask her to repeat herself, when he notices that the part of the Neckz ‘N Throatz booth closest to them is starting to tilt oddly. 

Before he can think about it, he tosses his sandwich at the table and runs. He makes it there just in time to grab the pole that’s coming loose from its base. 

“Oh my god.” 

The voice is half-panicked and coming from over Derek’s head. He looks up to see a guy stretched across the air above him, with his legs wrapped around the pole that Derek’s bracing and his hands holding to the crossbar. 

“Please tell me you’re a werewolf?”

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Catch me?”

“Ho...” Derek manages to say, and then he’s lunging forward, one knee braced against the pole, trying to stop it from tilting further.

The guy lands in Derek’s arms with an oomph, a wild-eyed grin, and an almost overwhelming burst of adrenaline-tainted scent. The guy almost falls over backwards, his momentum nearly tipping him out of Derek’s arms, but he grabs onto Derek’s shoulders just in time to stop himself. 

“Damn,” the guy says, clinging to Derek in something that almost feels like a hug, “saved by my very own superwolf.” 

HIs eyebrows drawing down into a scowl, Derek snaps, “Stupid.”

Still holding onto Derek, the guy leans back to look at him. “Seriously? You’re name calling me? That’s what you say after saving my life?”

“What else would you call climbing up there by yourself?”

“Hey, someone had to stop Jackson’s poster from falling down and hitting someone. It’s not as if there was anyone else around to help. Scott’s off with Allison, and Jackson’s been gone for over an hour getting coffee made to his insane specifications!" 

Every word Derek might have said in reply is stolen by the sudden realization that, even if the scent is unfamiliar, he recognizes those brown eyes, the moles, the collarbones peeking out of the torn neck of the too-big t-shirt. A low growl rumbles in his chest, half-attraction, half-fear, as others finally arrive. 

He uses the commotion that follows to extricate himself from the guy — from _Stiles_ , whose picture he’s had open in his laptop for too long — and get away. Stiles is surrounded by three or four people, including the demanding customer from Peets, who are alternating between yelling at him for trying to fix things himself and making sure he’s okay. Another group, including a couple of hotel employees, are stabilizing the pole. 

Still feeling shaken by the whole thing, Derek curls his trembling hands into fists, takes a deep breath, stumbles back to the Lykos Press booth, and into Laura’s arms. He drops into one of the uncomfortable hotel chairs when she lets him go and stares up at her. 

“That was—” he takes another deep breath “—insane.”

“Damn, superwolf, you might’ve just saved that guy’s life.” Erica gives him a wide-eyed smile as she hands him his black tie. The outside of the plastic cup is slick with condensation from the melting ice, so he has to hold it with both hands to take a sip. His first mouthful is almost perfect, mixing half-and-half and coffee. 

“Are you all right, sir?” 

Derek looks up to see a woman in a white silk shirt and black jacket with a gold hotel badge on the pocket that identifies her as Annabel V.. She’s standing on the other side of the tables with a cell phone clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles are white. 

“I’m fine.” He glances at the Neckz ‘N Throatz booth, where a swarm of hotel employees are fixing the display, and a black jacketed man is talking to Stiles. “Everything’s fine.”

“While the hotel is not taking responsibility for the incident, nor do we condone our guests climbing on equipment, whether it was set up by the hotel or the guest,” Annabel says, “we would like to thank you for your actions today.” 

“Saving their asses from a major lawsuit,” Laura whispers too low for the human to hear.

Despite his best efforts, Derek’s lips twist into an almost-smile as he raises an eyebrow at Annabel.

“The manager will stop by at some point later today to express our appreciation,” Annabel continues smoothly, “but please don’t hesitate to contact me if there’s anything we can do to make sure your stay here is the best it can be.”

“You could comp our rooms,” Laura murmurs subvocally at the same time as Erica mutters, “Free upgrade to a penthouse suite?” 

Derek forces himself not to laugh by taking a sip of his black tie. Then he gives Annabel a nod and says, “Thanks.”

“We’ll be here all day,” Laura adds, coming to stand behind Derek. “Now if you don’t mind, the doors are opening, and we have to finish preparing for our customers.”

“Ugh,” Erica says, once Annabel is far enough away. “Fake much?” 

“It’s not like anyone who works for the hotel is going to admit liability.” Laura shrugs. “Besides, maybe we’ll get a free dinner or something out of it.”

“We?” Derek tosses his empty drink cup into a recycle bin. “I didn’t see any we over there. In fact, I didn’t see any you at all.” 

“Don’t be so literal.” Laura ruffles his hair. “Besides,” she says, indicating the line stretching out past their booth, “it’s time for you to flex some of those muscles. We have potential customers to entice.”

To Derek’s annoyance, and relief, Laura’s prediction turns out to be true. People with friends (or strangers) willing to hold their places leave the Neckz ‘N Throatz line to check out their booth. Several flirt with Erica and Laura, a few with Derek, and most of them pick up at least one book. 

He’s just managed to put the morning’s craziness out of his head when a woman in the line says, “I hear Stiles almost died.” 

“And a werewolf saved him.”

“Can you imagine being the guy who did that? I mean, having Stiles in your arms.”

“Stiles would be so _grateful_.” 

The last word has such an odd sighing inflection to it that Derek can’t help looking up from the book he’s signing. Since he’s got no clue who said it, he glares at everyone. Sadly, it doesn’t have an impact on anyone.

Frustrated, he finishes his autograph with a slash of his pen and shoves it over to the couple waiting for it. 

“Thanks,” the guy says, with a smile that lights his eyes and emphasizes his crooked jaw. He puts a card on the table in front of Derek. “Your damsel in distress from the morning wants to thank you too. He just wasn’t sure if you’d want to deal with the craziness that would happen if he came over here in person.” 

Derek’s attention snaps down to the card, which has a post-it note stuck to it. There’s a telephone number, a room number, and a time that’s — Derek checks his watch — fifteen minutes from now. 

“Lunch, if you’re interested,” the girl says. “Just the two of you.”

“I…” Derek’s brain stutters around the idea of being alone in a room with Stiles. 

“He’s interested,” Erica answers for him.

“But my shift,” Derek can’t help protesting. “I was supposed to cover lunch.” 

“We can handle it, baby brother.” Laura yanks the back of his chair, tipping it forward slightly. 

Erica grins at him, showing just a hint of fang, and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You’ll owe us, though.” 

A shiver runs down Derek’s back at the thought, but he manages a tight smile for her. “And I’m sure you’ll demand something suitably horrific in return.”

"Of course.” 

“Cool,” the guy says, as he types a password into his cellphone. “I’ll let him know.”

And with that, he picks up the book and they both head for the back entrance to the Neckz ‘N Throatz booth.

Derek stares down at the card in his hand. “I should…” he starts to say, but then trails off because he’s not sure what he should do. Except go up to a room on the floor above theirs and hope that… something not bad happens… especially if Stiles knows that Derek’s been creeping on his cover shot.

*

The card lets Derek punch the elevator button for the club floor. It’s not the penthouse, but the hallway is a bit plusher than the one that leads to his room. He hesitates in the foyer, heart beating faster than usual, his palms feeling sweaty. He’d hit the elevator button, go back down, but he’d never be able to face Laura or Erica again, or go back to their booth… right next to the one where Stiles would be.

He wipes his palms on his jeans and glances down at the card again, even though he knows which room he needs. The signs point Derek to the left. He walks down the hallway slowly, checking the numbers on each door that he passes. 

He’s almost at Stiles’ room when a door opens, and a woman steps out into the hallway. She’s got long dark brown hair and pale skin, and there’s something about her that sets off Derek’s instincts and has his hackles rising. He takes a step back as she moves towards him. 

“Well, hello,” she says, giving him an expectant look. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Something tugs at the air in Derek’s lungs, making him feel as if he needs to get closer to her. He shakes his head. “I don’t know you.” 

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to know me.” Her hand comes up and curves close to Derek’s jaw line. She doesn’t touch him, but he can feel her anyway.

Derek steps back and finds himself against the wall. His lungs tighten as he looks around. The hallway is empty, and the elevators are all several floors down. The doors are all closed and the nearest one seems very far away. “No, I...”

Her scent surrounds him. Her artificial perfume tastes sweet and innocent, but there’s an undertone of rotting vegetation that makes him want to run. He’s just not sure how. One foot in front of the other seems like such an effort when the wall is willing to take his weight and hold him up. 

“Hey!”

Derek startles. His head turns away from the woman, towards where Stiles is storming down the hallway towards them. 

“Do you mind!” 

“Why would I mind?” The woman’s question and the movement of her hand draws Derek’s attention back to her. 

“Because that’s my boyfriend you’re manhandling… womanhandling… whatever the fuck you’re doing, just stop it.” 

Stiles bats her hand away and comes to stand next to Derek. As soon as his arm slides around Derek’s waist and his hand settles on Derek’s hip, something snaps and Derek almost chokes on the clean air that flows into his lungs. 

The air brings anger. Derek’s eyes flash bright blue and his fangs lengthen. He snarls at her. “I don’t know your name, but I have your room number. Leave the hotel, or I’ll report you to security.” 

“Me too,” Stiles adds brightly, holding up his cell phone. “Although I’d rather call the cops and have you arrested for attempted assault.” 

Her eyes flare and the air seems to shimmer around her before she visibly calms down. She lets out a very fake giggle. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I was simply saying hello.”

“You...” Unable to think of how to defend himself, Derek growls at her. 

Stiles tightens his grip on Derek’s hip, grounding him into silence, and snickers at her. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t try that if I were you. It’ll just dig you even deeper into the shit once the cops run the feed from the security cameras. They’ve got you on visual and audio, and don’t even think about trying a hex because they’ve got a druid on staff.”

The woman’s eyes narrow, and Derek instinctively tries to put himself between her and Stiles. 

“Rude.” Stiles flaps a hand at her, and she backs away. “Now be a good little whatever the hell you are and _get the fuck out of this hotel_.” 

The last phrase has some kind of power behind it that seems to make the air sizzle. It’s enough to make the woman back up into her room and slam the door behind her. 

Derek almost stumbles as that breaks the last of the tension. He can feel his eyes return to human and his fangs recede. He glances at Stiles, who looks as wrung out as Derek feels. He puts an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and lets Stiles lean some of his weight on him. 

“Well, that’s so not what I had in mind when I invited you for lunch,” Stiles says. “C’mon, let’s get to my room where it’s safe.” He uses his thumbprint to open his cell and hits one of his contacts. 

The phone rings as they walk to the end of the hall. Just stepping into Stiles’ room makes Derek feel more protected, and closing the door takes care of the last of whatever that woman was doing to him. 

He stands there, still holding onto Stiles, still being held by Stiles, and half-listens to the phone call. 

“Hey, Deaton,” Stiles says. “We’ve got a problem on this floor. Not sure what she is, but she just tried to mojo one of the hotel guests into I don’t even want to think about what.” 

Deaton’s side of the conversation is muffled, but Stiles nods at whatever he says in response. 

“Room 1214. I tried to evict her, but I’m not sure it took.” 

“Yeah. We’ll stay here until you give us the all-clear.”

After ending the call, Stiles tosses his cellphone at the bed. He steps away from Derek, removing his arm from Derek’s waist, and Derek wobbles. 

“Hey, big guy, it’s okay.” Stiles’ voice is soft as he guides Derek towards the sofa. “Why don’t you just sit here, and I’ll go get us something to drink. Water’s best for magic shock, but we’ve also got diet and regular coke and some kind of fruit-flavored seltzer thingy. There’s alcohol too, but I really don’t recommend it.”

“Water’s… good.” Derek’s voice sounds more like a croak than anything else. His mouth and throat both feel desert-dry. He grabs the bottle that Stiles hands him and drains it. After he does the same with a second bottle, he collapses against the back of the sofa with his head resting against the wall and closes his eyes.

*

When he opens them again, the room is in twilight. Stiles is at the door, talking with someone Derek can’t see. Their voices are a comfortingly low susurrus, and Derek lets it wash over him. It feels like too much of an effort to try and listen to what they’re saying.

“You’re awake.” 

Stiles sounds so relieved that Derek attempts to sit up. Or at least he curls around so that he’s facing Stiles, who is now perched on the arm of the sofa closest to Derek. The door’s closed, and Derek’s not completely sure how he missed that. 

He blinks at Stiles. “I thought I was awake before.” 

“Nah, you surfaced for a bit but went right back under. Being whammied’ll really take it out of you.”

“Whammied?” Derek tastes the word, compares it to what he remembers from the hallway. His memories of the woman are vague, like they happened underwater, but Stiles is clear as day. “You saved me,” he says. 

“You saved me first.” Stiles sticks out his tongue. 

Derek’s breath catches in his throat. For a second, his mind is filled with an image of leaning forward, catching Stiles’ tongue between his lips, sucking on it lightly, tasting him. A knock on the door, followed by a call of “Room service” stops him from making it more than a fantasy. 

When Stiles gets up to open the door, Derek follows him but turns off into the bathroom. After he’s zipped himself back up, he stares at himself in the mirror. He looks exactly the same as he had that morning, even though he still feels a little fuzzy around the edges. After a moment, he washes his hands and then turns the water to cold and splashes it on his face. That helps… a little. 

He returns to a room that smells of cheeseburgers and curly fries. His stomach grumbles, and Stiles smiles at him with delight. 

“C’mon. Dig in.” Stiles waves him over to the coffee table where he’s set out the room service plates. “I didn’t know what you like on your cheeseburger, so I had them put everything on the side. I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” Derek says as he drops down to the floor to sit next to Stiles, who takes the lid off his plate with a flourish. 

The silence lasts until Derek takes his first bite of burger. It’s medium rare, juicy and perfect, drawing a groan of appreciation out of him. “S’good,” he mumbles through his mouthful. 

Stiles nods. “S’perfect.”

That’s it for conversation until after Stiles eats the last couple of curly fries. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, tosses it on top of his plate, and turns to face Derek. “Soooooo…”

“So,” Derek echoes, suddenly hyper-aware of Stiles’ scent, of the pale skin of his neck, and length of his fingers. He struggles to find something else to say and comes up with, “You said I was your boyfriend.”

Spots of red bloom on Stiles’ cheeks, and he runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, about that. I mean, it was the best I could come up with, you know? I mean, I’m not a bad spark, but I’ve got way more attitude than power, at least according to Deaton. Anyway, she could have totally overwhelmed me if I’d given her time to think. Not that she shouldn’t have done what she did, but it’s even worse, super forbidden, when you’re trying to whammy someone else’s dude.”

“Oh.” Disappointment settles awkward and heavy in Derek’s stomach, mixing badly with the food he’s just eaten. “So that’s why you… the only reason that… to protect me.” 

“No!” Stiles blurts out. He scrubs a hand through his hair again. “That’s not what I… God, I’m such a fuck-up at this.” 

Derek turns everything over in his mind again but comes up empty. He can’t even figure out if it matters. “You invited me for lunch,” he says, because that’s all he has. “Were you… why?”

“Because you saved me.” 

The disappointment congeals and becomes colder. Derek thinks he’s going to be sick. 

Something must show in his face, because Stiles reaches out and takes his hand. Stiles’ hands are cold, compared to Derek’s, but the stroke of Stiles’ fingers over Derek’s palm send shivers down Derek’s spine.

“Because I wanted to know you.” Stiles averts his head, turning Derek’s hand over and focusing on his own finger as he traces Derek’s veins. “Because you didn’t ask me for anything. You just went back to your booth. Because I felt something when you held me, and I wanted to see if it could become more. Only… I… well… it’s weird, you know, because I’ve got all your books.”

The last part is said in a rush, and it takes Derek a second to parse what Stiles said. “You’ve read my books?”

“Yeah.” Stiles laces his fingers with Derek’s, tightens his grip as if holding him there. “I liked them, especially the pack story you wrote for kids.” He hesitates before adding, “I liked your picture on the back, too.” 

“You liked…” Derek stares at him.

“Hey, don’t judge. You’re all—” Stiles makes a gesture with his hand that takes in Derek’s entire body “—you. I mean, what’s not to like?”

Derek stares down at himself and back up at Stiles, surprised by the admission into remembering the picture of Stiles that he’s had open for so long. “Me too,” he says. Then, when Stiles gives him a look of confusion, adds, “Your picture, I mean. The cover shot. With your hand. Your fingers, I mean, what’s not to like, right?” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously. I felt a bit like a creep, coming up here, knowing that I was going to have to admit to being a fan.” Derek scowls. “Those people in line, the implications they made about catching you, how they’d treat you.”

“Dude. We’re such goofs. I mean, complete and total idiots.” Stiles’ confusion morphs into a wide grin. “I almost didn’t want to thank you in person because I was freaked out about meeting the guy I’d been drooling over from a distance.” 

The tension lifts from Derek so quickly that he almost feels light-headed. He offers Stiles a tentative smile. “Not complete idiots,” he says. “We’re here aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. 

He’s not sure if he moves first or if Stiles does, but it doesn’t matter at all. What matters is the soft touch of Stiles’ lips against his. Their kiss is gentle, almost chaste. It’s short and sweet, and opens something up inside Derek that he’s never felt before. 

When the kiss ends, they stay close together. Stiles almost seems to curl into Derek, and Derek wraps his arms around him. 

“I wanna stay here all day,” Stiles says. 

Derek presses his lips against Stiles’ forehead and pulls him closer. “Me too,” he admits, “but if we don’t go down eventually, my sister’s going to come looking for me.”

“Jackson wouldn’t care, but Scott would totally come up here looking for me too. Especially since I’m supposed to be on stage at three.”

“And I’ve got a signing at four.”

“I could come watch?” Stiles suggests. “Keep you company?”

“I’d like that,” Derek admits. He runs a thumb along the bony part of Stiles’ wrist. “I could, too. Come see you do your thing.”

“Awesome.” Stiles gets up and tugs on Derek’s hand. “Come on, superwolf. Let's go be boyfriends for real. Next door neighbors in the marketplace, working side by side and everything.” 

“I’d like that,” Derek says, letting Stiles pull him to his feet. “But don’t call me superwolf.”

Stiles laughs, free and easy. “Whatever you say, dude. Whatever you say.”

“Don’t call…” Derek stops himself with a shake of his head. “Never mind.”

He goes to stand near the door, leaning against the wall as he waits for Stiles to check his texts and shove his feet into a pair of converse. Laura’s never going to let him forget this, after giving her such a hard time about setting up next to Neckz ‘N Throatz, but for once Derek just couldn’t give a damn.


End file.
